


Let Me In

by kla1991



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, an unexpected amount of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kla1991/pseuds/kla1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that she expected Shaw to love her. It’s just that Root had always enjoyed pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have a beta for this, and it's my first forray into this fandom, so comments are deeply appreciated.

            It was out of character for Root to ring the doorbell, but Shaw was awake, and getting shot wasn’t the goal of the evening, so sneaking in, covering her eyes, and saying, “Guess who?” wasn’t an option.

            The door swung open, and Shaw groaned.

            “I did appreciate your coming back for me, Sameen. Did Harold tell—“

            Shaw had grabbed her shirt by then, shut the door, and slammed her against it.

            “Don’t move,” she growled, her blunt nails digging into the sides of Root’s throat. Root put her hands flat against the door and nodded.

            Shaw started at Root’s waist, checking for weapons with her free hand, then down each leg as far as she could reach. When her hand worked its way up Root’s back, then around and over her chest, Root twitched.

            “Is this a pat down, Agent Shaw, or an excuse to cop a feel?”

            Shaw looked up from where she was yanking up her pant leg, glared, and went back to studying the simple tennis shoes and short socks. Her hand flexed lightly around Root’s neck.

            “No weapons, I swear,” Root said, swallowing while she had the chance. “And you’re welcome to choose either option.”

            For a minute, Shaw just looked at her, still and blank as a blackboard. Then she whispered, so low Root’s one good ear barely caught it, “What does the Machine think I’ll choose?”

            “The earpiece is in my pocket. There’s no one here but me.”

            Shaw was still a second longer, deciding, and then she grabbed at the button of Root’s jeans.

            Root only made one mistake: reaching out for Shaw’s hips. For a second when Shaw pressed against her, she couldn’t breathe at all.

            “Don’t. Move.”

            The pressure around her throat eased, and she gasped.

            “If I push back…” Root started, putting a cautious hand around Shaw’s wrist.

            “Then we’re done here,” Shaw agreed.

            And then her other hand worked its way inside Root’s open jeans and simple underwear, combing through hair and wetness. Root clenched her jaw to stop her hips from jolting forward. Shaw’s slim fingers worked easily in the tight space, scratching her clit and sliding around.

            “What’s got you so hot?”

            “One of your neighbors tried to mug me,” Root panted. “It was cute.”

            The corner of Shaw’s lip twitched, but before Root could tease her about the fondness of the look, two fingers plunged inside her. Shaw started thrusting as much as she could, pressing the heel of her hand against Root’s clit and rocking as she pulled in and out. Root clawed Shaw’s wrist and squirmed as much as she dared. The brief clenching of Shaw’s hand on her neck was almost affectionate. She pressed closer, ground her hips against Root’s and panted against her jaw while Root choked and gasped.

            Eventually, the steady rhythm of Shaw inside her started to build, and she whimpered with the strain of not letting her body surge in response.

            “How does it feel?” Shaw asked, pulling back enough to look her in the eye.

            “As good as I’d expected.”

            Shaw’s hand slowed almost to a stop, and she grinned.

            “Oh, so you were expecting this?”

            Root hadn’t intended to make a thing of it, but her smile faltered and she answered honestly. “I had hoped.”

            Shaw got the message. Root was sure, because everything froze except her eyes, which widened like someone had whacked her on the head. She blinked once, twice, and Root was ready to get thrown out, possibly through a window. But all Shaw did was adjust her stance and squirm the hand crammed in Root’s underwear.

            “You’re gonna need to come before my hand cramps, so any tips?”

            Root rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and sighed, “A little deeper.”

            Shaw thrust back in, slowly, until Root grunted, “There,” then started walking her fingertips against her g-spot, increasing the pressure as Root started to twitch again.

            When Shaw pressed her whole body against her, Root’s airflow dropped to almost nothing, but she wasn’t all that interested in breathing, anyway. Her lungs clenched as hard as the muscles around Shaw’s fingers, and she ground down and let the knee between her legs take her full weight while her eyes fluttered closed and burst with color. She raised welts on Shaw’s wrist. Shaw didn’t stop until Root’s spine went rigid and she pushed desperately back on the hand around her neck.

            Root slid to the floor, coughing and giggling, when Shaw released her all at once.

            “Is the creepy laughter a sound of approval?”

            Root managed to nod. Shaw stood, licking her fingers, while Root recovered. Once her lungs stopped aching, she reached a hand out, and Shaw yanked her to her feet.

            “Strip,” she said. It ached to move, but Root didn’t hesitate to pull her shirt over her head.

            She hadn’t expected Shaw to touch her, really, and certainly not as gently as she did once Root’s bra hit the floor.

            “Sameen?”

            “Not seeing any marks,” Shaw muttered. “Didn’t think Control would make that mistake, underestimating pain tolerance. But what method did she go with?”

            Oh.

            “Didn’t realize this was a medical exam, doctor,” Root said, in the same instant that Shaw found the needle scars on her left bicep.

            “Drugs?”

            “Barbiturates,” she said, and, pointing to the other arm, “Amphetamines.”

            “Nice way to have a heart attack,” Shaw muttered while she crossed to study the other side of her.

            “I do a lot of cardio.”

            After a second, Shaw shook her, and when Root turned to look, she was frowning.

            “Did you say something?” Root asked, tapping her ear. Shaw combed her hair aside to look while Root explained.

            “I could have stitched this if you’d dragged your ass back here instead of running off,” Shaw muttered while she studied the scar.

            “So nice of you to care.”

            Shaw leaned over her left shoulder, and Root managed not to laugh that she had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in her good ear, “I thought I told you to strip.”

            While Root took her time with the rest of her clothes, Shaw pulled open a drawer in the bedside table and started sorting through it.

            “Duct tape or bear claw?” she asked when Root was naked, offering the tape in one hand, and a pair of brass knuckles with blunted metal spikes in the other.

            After an hour of Shaw clawing her back and fucking her while the bed sheets ground into the scratches, Root finally talked Shaw out of her pants.

            “On your knees,” Shaw instructed, “and keep your hands where I put them.”

            Root cheated a bit, running her thumb over Shaw’s abs before getting her hands comfortable on her hipbones, where Shaw pressed them. Her only punishment was a yank of her hair, and neither of them believed that would deter her. Shaw didn’t fight when Root kissed her thigh before running her tongue over Shaw’s clit.

            “You’re gonna stick with it until I’m done,” Shaw told her.

            Root snorted, “I’m nothing if not persistent.”

            Shaw was vulgar and breathy while Root licked her, almost yelled when she bit, and Root only wished she could hear in stereo one last time. Ducking her shoulder, she tried to coax Shaw’s leg over; the greater access let her press the tip of her tongue inside, but Shaw’s other foot slid a bit underneath her. Root looked up, intending to read Shaw’s reaction to the unstable footing, but instead, she found a screw jutting out of the brick wall.

            “Hey!” Shaw growled when Root pulled away, but Root was already stumbling to her feet, ripping Shaw’s belt free of her pants.

            “Can’t stick with it if you fall, Sameen,” Root explained, binding Shaw’s wrists and hooking the knot over the screw. And then she waited, flush against her, while Shaw scowled.

            She could get loose and kick Root’s ass. She could head butt her in the nose or roll her eyes or yell at her. She could, in theory, kiss her, but Root wasn’t counting on that.

            Finally, Shaw wrapped a leg around and buckled Root’s knees. Root fell laughing and dove back in. Shaw’s leg draped over her shoulder again, thigh against her deaf ear and heel digging into the scratches on her back. The taste on her tongue was sharp; it clung in her throat and made her thirsty, and she drank Shaw in like water.

            It’s not that she expected Shaw to love her. It’s just that Root had always enjoyed pain.

            “More,” Shaw ordered, and Root sat up straighter, dug her nails into Shaw’s hips to pull her closer: tongue, lips, and teeth, until Shaw thrashed and shouted, coming in a rush in her mouth. Root laved over her as long as she could. Shaw would wrestle out of that belt and stop her eventually.

            “Get up and lay on your stomach in the bed,” Shaw said when she was free, but she helped Root up and walked her all the way before slipping into the bathroom. Root wiped her face on the fitted sheet without remorse.

            She could hear Shaw moving around, caught a glimpse of the arsenal in her refrigerator while she cracked ice cubes into a small tin bowl, and wondered whether or not she could handle a round of temperature play.

            The moan she let out when Shaw draped a warm towel over her back was by far the most obscene noise she’d made that night. Shaw tsked and sat on the floor by the bed, warming up a dose of ointment between her palms. She smoothed it over Root’s back once the towel had gone cold, then prodded her onto her side and ran the ice over her bruised knees and raw throat. Root drank the glass of water Shaw offered next, took the towel back when Shaw had warmed it again, to wash her face and thighs. Finally, Shaw checked her pulse.

            No reason for that at all, except worry. It made Root gutsy. She took Shaw’s hand as she pulled away, kissed the raw patch where the belt had dug in.

            “Get mushy, and I _will_ throw you out. Ass naked, and you can fight off Jim the Mugger again on your own.”

            “It’s called ‘aftercare,’ Sameen,” Root said. She ignored the thrill of knowing Shaw hadn’t planned to throw her out in the first place.

            Shaw rolled her eyes. Root watched her drowsily as she brushed her teeth and made a pallet on the floor beside the bed. At some point in the night, Root’s hand dropped off the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing Shaw’s arm. When she woke up, Shaw hadn’t moved away.

**Author's Note:**

> A note on BDSM safety: do NOT choke someone like Shaw does; it's outrageously dangerous. Shaw's a doctor, she knows what she's doing. It's hot to read about, but having to perform CPR on your partner will kill the mood.


End file.
